


Outnumbered Like the Alamo

by Cinaed



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, if he survived this and got to go home, he was never, ever buying a present for Jeannie again, not even if his parents threatened to disown him. A Nutcracker AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ras_elased](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ras_elased).



> Thanks go out to duckduck for looking this over for me. The story was supposed to be written for ras_elased uh, one or two Christmases ago. Sorry about the wait, ras_elased!

_I'm a soldier on a battlefield  
Got an army on the battlefield  
Outnumbered like the Alamo  
I don't even want to go_  
\- "This is War" by Ben Kweller

Really, Rodney didn’t see why his parents had _expected_ him to get Jeannie a Christmas present. For one thing, he was a dirt-poor university student who could barely afford to buy himself vital things like, oh, food. For another, he had no idea what she even wanted for Christmas, and his parents had been too irritated with him to offer up a single hint of her likes and dislikes.

They were totally overreacting, of course. Especially since they had actually kicked him out of the house and told him not to come back until he had a present for her. He still wasn't sure if they were really serious about that. They’d certainly seemed serious when they’d shoved him outside and locked the door, completely ignoring the fact that it was snowing and he was only wearing a T-shirt, fleece jacket, and jeans. 

Maybe Jeannie still liked dolls. Twelve-year-old girls still liked dolls, right? He eyed the nearest window display, which was filled with rather creepy-looking porcelain dolls. Then he caught sight of the price tags on said-creepy dolls and snorted. Who would willingly pay that much for a _doll_?

People bumped into him, and he glared venomously. Sure, it was Christmas Eve and everyone was probably frantically finishing up their shopping because they were irresponsible idiots who’d waited until the _last possible minute_, but they didn’t have to invade his personal space. Honestly.

It started to snow harder, snowflakes lingering on his hair and shoulders as the chilly afternoon air made him shiver. Really, did his parents think him freezing his ass off would be an incentive to get Jeannie something nice? They could have at least let him grab a warmer coat. Zipping his fleece jacket up to his neck in a vain attempt to feel warmer, he sighed and resumed his trek through the slush, glancing at every window display and finding nothing, just other dolls that cost more than a decent bottle of wine.

It was getting dark and he’d missed the family’s annual torture session -- cleverly disguised as a tradition of going to the Christmas Eve Mass (even though they weren’t even _Catholic_) -- when he finally spotted a shop whose dolls didn’t have ridiculous prices, judging by the two on display. All right, the dolls weren’t porcelain, they were more of the cloth or wood persuasion, but hey, they were dolls. That had to count for something.

The shop was smaller than most, and devoid of customers, so that made it all the more inviting as Rodney ducked inside. He winced a little, his chilled face itching at the sudden shift from freezing cold to warmth. He carefully clenched and unclenched his fingers until they stopped feeling so stiff, hating the cold with every fiber of his being.

A bell next to the door jingled, announcing his entrance, and the old man behind the counter looked up and smiled. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?” the old man asked genially, and then a white eyebrow rose and he suggested with a hint of mischief in his voice, “A tissue, perhaps?” 

“Um,” Rodney said, blinking. It was only when the old man gestured that he realized his nose was running. “Oh, yeah. Definitely a good plan.” He accepted the tissue the chuckling man offered him, and then added, “I’m actually looking for a doll for my sister.”

“Well, the dolls are right over there,” the man informed him, a glint of amusement lingering in his gaze as he pointed toward the far corner of the shop. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Right, right,” Rodney muttered, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, because he planned on buying the first doll that didn’t scare the shit out of him, hoping Jeannie liked it, and getting home in time for the traditional eggnog toast before everyone went to bed.

He was glancing through the selection when something caught his eye. He couldn’t quite keep from smirking, or from commenting under his breath, “A nutcracker isn’t actually a _doll_.”

Huh. Though _actually_\-- If he got Jeannie something shitty like a nutcracker -- a not-doll doll that proved he just really sucked at the whole gift deal -- his parents might give up and let him just give her money next Christmas. 

Rodney eyed the nutcracker for a moment. It didn’t look new or even particularly well made, judging by the way the sleeve was slightly chipped on one arm, making the red sleeve seem lopsided, and the muddy brown shade of its eyes. Weren’t nutcrackers supposed to have blue or green eyes? Anything but brown, really. And Rodney also thought he remembered most nutcrackers having a beard, but this one’s maker had been apparently too lazy to glue one on the nutcracker.

When he picked it up, the wood was grainy and rough against his fingers, the paint unevenly textured, as though the maker had just given his creation a few hasty swipes of a paintbrush and then tossed the nutcracker carelessly aside. Rodney was surprised when he didn’t immediately get a splinter just from fiddling with the stupid thing. 

Still, the mouth opened and closed, so it could break nuts, and it was the cheapest doll there, so it’d do quite well. Rodney smirked to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Jeannie’s expression when she realized that _this_ was her Christmas present. Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to the moment where she hit him in the arm and he was forced to give her some money to buy herself a _decent_ present. Her expression would be worth the bruise. Probably.

The shopkeeper blinked at him when he brought the nutcracker to the counter. “You actually want that?” There was an odd note to his voice, as though he suspected that Rodney was joking. “That’s…been in my store for years and no one’s even glanced at it.”

_That’s probably because it’s a piece of crap,_ Rodney wanted to say, but he just shrugged and pulled out his wallet, handing a couple of crumpled bills to the old man. “It caught my eye.”

“Caught your eye,” the shopkeeper repeated slowly. A strange expression flitted across his face, one that Rodney couldn’t quite define (and couldn’t really be bothered to, because honestly, he wasn’t ever going to see this man again, so it didn’t matter).

“Yes, yes,” Rodney said with a roll of his eyes and resisted the urge to snap his fingers as the shopkeeper slowly counted out his change. Finally, he was back out on the street, trudging through the snow and heading toward his car with the nutcracker under one arm.

Someone jostled him, hard enough that he lurched and almost stepped off the sidewalk and into incoming traffic. He turned to glare. “Hey!” As the guy ducked back into the holiday crowd without so much as an apologetic look, Rodney scowled and muttered, “Merry fucking Christmas to you too.”

Then he frowned, because something was vaguely off. It took only a second to figure out why: his wallet was gone. His wallet, with his student ID, his lone credit card, the number of that girl in his Quantum Physics class who was blonde and smart and seemed amused rather than irritated by him--

“Hey! _Hey_!” The guy glanced back at him when Rodney started yelling. Then the guy bolted, Rodney plunging into the crowd after him. “Get back here, you--” He lunged, fingers catching on the hood of the thief’s jacket, and somehow he managed to yank the guy off balance. “Give me back my wallet, and maybe I won’t press charges--”

The guy turned and Rodney had a second to think, _Huh, he’s just some stupid kid,_ before the thief’s fist swung and connected with Rodney’s jaw. His head snapped back painfully -- he swore he could almost hear it crack -- and he was falling, everything spinning out of focus around him, blurring into pastel watercolors. Then his head struck the sidewalk and everything went black.

***  
***

The first sense that came back to him was touch, in that he felt the snow settling feather-soft onto his face, the snowflakes catching on his eyelashes and melting when they landed on his uncovered skin. He was lying on snow as well; he could feel it beneath his hands. He wasn't cold though, and even only one-fifth of the way conscious, Rodney knew that was a bad sign.

He struggled to open his eyes, to regain his sight, and after a moment his eyelids obeyed his commands. He found himself staring into a sky that was darkening, no, almost bruising its way into a dark, dark blue. There was an ache at the back of his head, a dull throbbing that ebbed and flowed with its intensity. He winced even as he moved his fingers and toes, trying to coax his heavy limbs into moving or at the very least getting him up into a sitting position so that the snow didn’t bury him.

Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate, eyes sliding shut on their own, and it seemed odd how Rodney could feel the darkness _shift_, how there was a difference between the black beneath his eyelids and the black of his impending unconsciousness. He was so fascinated by its sheer subtlety that he almost didn’t hear the crunching of snow beneath boots, that it took a moment for him to even process the sound.

He felt someone’s hand, the warmth of callused fingertips pressing gently against his throat in search for a pulse, the flat of that someone’s palm brushing snow off his cheeks and forehead, and struggled to open his eyes again. They opened a crack, not enough to see anything more than smudges of color, but thankfully enough that whoever was touching him inhaled sharply and said, “Ronon, he’s awake,” and then, “You know, falling asleep during a snowstorm is _not_ a good plan.”

Rodney tried to get his lips to work, but they wouldn’t quite cooperate either, too numb to work properly. He wasn't certain how much of his slurred, “Not sleeping, was unconscious,” was actually coherent. He attempted to force his eyes to open wider, enough that the smudges would solidify into a face, all to no avail, and instead his eyes fluttered shut again.

“Stay awake,” someone muttered, voice sharp with urgency, “_stay awake_,” and then strong arms lifted Rodney from the ground, the inside of his head spinning like he was on a tilt-a-whirl as he slid back into unconsciousness.

***  
***

The next time he woke up, the first sense to return was sound: the soft footfalls of someone moving near him; the quiet murmuring of voices so low that Rodney couldn’t quite make out the words, though the overall tone was one of concern; the sound of his own slow, steady heartbeat in his ears.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar trio clustered around his bed and taking in their odd, old-fashioned clothing even as he started to sit upright. What, had the thief’s punch knocked him into the nineteenth century rather than last week?

As soon as he opened his eyes, the noise level rose and sentences like “He’s awake,” and “How are you feeling?” filled his ears. An anxious-looking man with piercing blue eyes and a thick accent that sounded almost Irish or maybe Scottish directed the latter at him.

“I feel,” Rodney began, and frowned at the scratchy quality of his voice. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Fine. I feel fine.” And he did feel fine, for someone who had apparently almost frozen to death because people couldn’t take a second from their last minute shopping to check on him. His bones ached a little, as did the back of his head, but he wasn't feeling queasy and he could feel all his extremities, so that meant no frostbite and no concussion. Rodney looked around and frowned, taking in the stone walls, the three dozen or more empty beds filling the large room, and the utter lack of whatever machines they usually had next to one’s bedside in a hospital. “What kind of hospital is this?” 

The man who’d asked how he was feeling smiled gently. “This is the infirmary, lad. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Yes, because I for one would like to know why you were sleeping in the middle of a snowstorm,” one of the other men drawled, and Rodney frowned at him. The man raised an eyebrow in response and looked almost amused at the scowl. He rested against the foot of the bed in a relaxed lean, one corner of his mouth curved upwards and a hint of amusement in his hazel eyes, the epitome of casual.

“I wasn’t _sleeping_,” Rodney corrected him. “I was _unconscious_ because someone decided to punch me into last Thursday.” He paused, frowned. “Or is that ‘punch me into _next_ Thursday’? I can never remember. Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The guy knocked me unconscious and apparently everyone else was too busy doing holiday shopping to notice me on the sidewalk--”

“Holiday?” This came from Mr. Obvious -- Mr. Obvious and _Gigantic_, that is – who’d commented on him being awake. He towered over the bed, dressed in the same nineteenth century clothes as the other two, but his hair was done in dreadlocks that were definitely not of the late 1800s. Or maybe they were. Rodney had never paid much attention in his history classes. Just memorized the names and the dates and counted the hours until he could focus on his major and be done with utterly useless courses like history and literature.

Rodney blinked at him. “Yes, holiday. Christmas.” At their blank looks, he rolled his eyes. Yes, let’s tease the injured man who almost froze to death in the snow. They were all hilarious. “You know, Christmas, with Santa Claus and his flying reindeer and the whole improbable story of how he can fly around the world in a single night, delivering gifts to children? _That_ Christmas?”

They continued to stare blankly at him for a moment, and then the anxious-looking one reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead, fingers cold and smooth. “You do have a rather nasty bump on your head. Can you tell me who you are and what today’s date is?”

Narrowing his eyes, Rodney jerked his head away from the cool touch and snapped, “Rodney. Rodney McKay, and today is Christmas Eve, otherwise known as December 24th. Unless I’ve been unconscious for several hours, in which case it’s probably Christmas.” He scowled at them. “Where’s the doctor? And has anyone called my parents? I hope they’re happy that kicking me out to get Jeannie’s present resulted in my getting _assaulted_\--” He stopped, eyes widening. “Her present. Did someone bring it with the ambulance? Please tell me someone didn’t just leave it on the side of the road. I mean, I_paid_ for that stupid nutcracker--”

The blue-eyed man touched him _again_, this time on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and there was a deep frown on his lips and a furrow between his eyes. “Lad, you have to understand, you’re not making much sense to us,” he said, voice soft, as though Rodney was some upset child who needed to be soothed. “Christmas? Santa Claus? December? Today’s the fifth day of Winterfrost.”

“Winterfrost,” Rodney echoed, rolling his eyes. Really, what kind of name was that? “Look, it wasn’t funny when you played dumb about Christmas, and it’s not funny now with your stupid new name for December. Have you contacted my parents? They’re probably wondering where I am, and I-- I--” Want to go home or at the very least far, far away from these freaks who seemed to have something against Christmas and December.

“Do you remember where you’re from, Rodney? The town, or perhaps the province?”

“When not at the university, I live in the city of Vancouver, which is in the province of British Columbia,” Rodney said, carefully enunciating every syllable in each word because these people were clearly _idiots_. Their expressions were still blank. “For the love of -- _Canada_. Don’t make me sing the damn national anthem.”

At Canada, though, something seemed to click, judging by the interested look the giant directed towards him, not to mention the way the color leeched from the worried-looking man’s face and how the smirk slid off the hazel-eyed man’s lips to be replaced by an intensely focused look.

In fact, those hazel eyes now bore into him, the gaze sharp and assessing, and then the man said slowly, “Carson, bring Elizabeth here. Ronon, Radek is in his laboratory,” and even as the two men nodded and headed for the door, Rodney wondered at the sudden sense of dread that clenched his stomach at the hazel-eyed man’s serious tone.

“How have you people heard of Canada, but not Vancouver or Christmas?” he demanded, masking his unease with irritation. “They pretty much go hand-in-hand. Well, Vancouver does at least. There are definitely people who don’t celebrate Christmas, hell, I wish _I_ wasn’t forced to celebrate Christmas, seeing as buying a present for my sister is what got me into this mess in the first place, but my parents insisted, not even caring that I have no money to spend on presents, and so--”

Some of the tension in the other man’s frame eased while Rodney spoke, and now the man regarded him curiously. “Do you even _breathe_?”

“Excuse me? Of course I do,” Rodney snapped, offended. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

“A perfectly reasonable one, since you never seem to take a breath,” the man said mildly, eyebrows rising and a small smirk playing on his lips. He leaned against the foot of the bed again and added, “I’m John, by the way. John Sheppard.”

Rodney stared for a moment, wondering if this John Sheppard actually expected him to care. “Well, _John_,” he began, putting as much sarcasm and scorn behind the name as possible, “perhaps you’d care to enlighten me on why everyone became so…_intense_ when I mentioned Canada. It was like I’d said I was from -- from, well, some terrible place, I’m sure I’ll think of an example later, but anyway, I’d like a reason for why the one guy looked about ready to vomit.”

Unfortunately, John didn’t take offense at his tone; if anything, the smirk widened. “It’s a long story. And I think Elizabeth would prefer if I let Radek explain.” He kept _leaning_, although now it was more of a slouch than anything else, all loose limbs and irritating smirk, and Rodney couldn’t help but glare at him, because just watching John slouch made Rodney’s back twinge in sympathy.

He folded his arms against his chest, still glaring. “Well, ‘Radek’ needs to hurry up, get here, and start explaining, before I decide to just get up and check myself out of this pitiful excuse for a hospital. I mean, you people don’t even have any machines. What if my heart suddenly stopped? You wouldn’t know, and--”

“Breathe,” John interrupted him to sweetly suggest, and Rodney was trying to kill him with a mere look when the door opened and the giant came in, a tiny man with a scarecrow’s nest for hair trailing behind him.

The latter looked as irritated as Rodney felt and shoved his glasses up from where they were dangling precariously off the tip of his nose before he blinked at Rodney and said with a thick accent that sounded vaguely European, “So, you are apparently the one who spoke of Canada?”

“Yes, I did, seeing as that’s _where I live_,” Rodney said, with an eye-roll for emphasis.

The man looked unimpressed and turned towards John. “So, John, you interrupt my work merely to drag me here to listen to the ravings of a madman? I must remind you that I do not bother you while you are training or on patrol.”

“Excuse me?” Rodney snapped, incredulous, but John shrugged easily, looking unperturbed.

“Don’t look at me, Radek. We were patrolling outside the palace walls and he was just on the ground, getting buried in the snowstorm. He finally woke up, and has been talking about the weirdest things ever since. Christmas. December. Santa -- Santa something.”

“Claus,” Rodney and Radek interjected, voices overlapping, and Radek blinked and then peered a little more closely at him, blue eyes narrowing.

Rodney raised an expectant eyebrow and scowled back. “John here said you’d explain why my mentioning Canada is such a big deal, so explain. Now.”

Radek just frowned for a moment and then said quietly, fiddling with his glasses and looking a little uneasy, “I think, perhaps, that we should wait for--”

“For me?” a warm, slightly amused voice asked from the doorway. The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman smiled at the group, the corners of her green eyes crinkling with amusement. She entered the room with a quiet sort of confidence, the anxious-looking man flanking her and looking even more apprehensive. Her green gaze sharpened when it landed on Rodney, and the woman -- Elizabeth, apparently -- said, “Please, Radek, if you would explain the situation to Mister McKay here.”

“Oh, ah, of course,” Radek said. When Rodney glanced at him, he looked flustered, a dark flush staining his cheeks, and his gaze was everywhere Elizabeth wasn’t. After a long moment, Radek finally looked at him, some of the redness fading from his face, his flustered expression shifting to an odd mixture of determination, embarrassment, and exasperation. “Mister McKay--”

“Rodney. Or just McKay,” he couldn’t help but interrupt because seriously, he was twenty-one, not forty. The only people who called him Mister were telemarketers and occasionally his professors.

Radek blinked at him for a moment, and then took off his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Very well, Rodney, if you _are_ from Canada, as Ronon says you claim to be, then you are now a very far way from home. This is the realm of Lantea.”

“Lantea,” Rodney repeated flatly. They all nodded. “Never heard of it.”

Radek almost smiled at that. “You wouldn’t. It is not on any of your maps, just as Canada is not on any of ours. You see, it is said that about two hundred years ago, several children exploring a cave found a device that acted as a, a sort of gateway to another world.” He held up a hand before Rodney could even start forming protests at his absurd statement, smiling a little wryly as though recognizing the ridiculousness of his own words. “I personally believe that if such a device actually existed, which I very much doubt it did, it was left behind by an earlier, more advanced race. Using the portal, Lanteans were able to journey to a realm called Canada, and these Canadians could also venture into Lantea--”

Even though Radek’s hand was still held up to ward off protests, Rodney couldn't help but snap, “Wait, wait, wait. So you’re telling me that this portal connected two universes? And you expect me to take this, take _you_, seriously?”

Radek sighed. “I am as skeptical as you are. However, most Lanteans believe in this portal--” He paused and nodded towards the others in the room, who were apparently members of the ‘most Lanteans’ category. “--and I am a foremost expert on the legends regarding the portal and Canada. As I was saying, about sixty years ago, a great enemy appeared and began ravaging Lantea and other neighboring kingdoms. Lantea, which controlled the gateway to Canada, felt it was best to shut down the gateway between our two worlds in case we were overrun, so that Canada and the rest of that world would not be destroyed as well.” His expression darkened. “However, the gatekeeper at the time, a man by the name of Vanadalin Zelenka, disagreed with the Council’s decision. It is said he used magic--” Here, Radek paused to make a face of utter disgust. “--to create several miniature gateways to Lantea. He claimed to be following a, a prophecy that foretold a man coming through one of these small portals who would help end the war.”

“And you expect me to believe all this,” Rodney said in the ensuing silence. He could only hope that his tone conveyed his utter, total, absolute disbelief. “That some magical portal transported me from Canada to here?”

Radek raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that this is an elaborate jest at your expense? That five total strangers would concoct this elaborate legend of the portal just to mock you?”

“Well, no,” Rodney admitted, frowning, his stomach twisting unhappily, because a practical joke would be far, far better than the alternative, but he really couldn’t see anyone disliking him to this extent. Well, all right, he could, but everyone he could think of would be too lazy or too stupid to pull off a stunt like this. Still, a portal to another _world_? “But another universe, it’s--”

“Highly unlikely,” Radek supplied with a put-upon sigh. “Yes, I think so too, but if you are from Canada and not simply mad, then it seems my -- that Vanadalin Zelenka perhaps did use ‘magic’ to create several gateways from Canada to Lantea.”

“Well, I didn’t walk through any _magical gateways_,” Rodney snapped. “I hit my head on the sidewalk and woke up here, and I’m not thinking that the sidewalk was exactly a portal, because otherwise you’d have a lot more people in your infirmary.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Did you touch anything else just before you were knocked unconscious?”

“Well, the guy who punched me, for one, but other than that, just the stupid nutcracker I bought for my sister.” Again with the blank looks, but then again, Rodney supposed that nutcrackers went hand-in-hand with Christmas. “A nutcracker, it’s a doll -- a doll-like thing that’s dressed as a, a British solider, I guess, and it breaks nuts in its mouth. It wasn’t even well-made, but it was cheap and right there and I needed a present for Jeannie, so--”

“So you bought the least expensive thing you could find,” John concluded with a knowing smirk, and Rodney scowled.

“Well, yes, but only because then my parents would see I’m horrible with gifts and just let me give Jeannie money so she can buy something she actually _likes_. I mean, how am I supposed to know what twelve-year-old girls like?”

Radek frowned thoughtfully. “What did this nutcracker look like, exactly?”

“Like a British-- like a soldier, with a red coat and a fluffy black hat. It wasn’t well made at all, one of the arms was chipped so the sleeve looked lopsided, and the paint was of poor quality, and it didn’t have a beard or anything--” He paused, a thought striking him. “Wait, this ‘prophecy’ said that someone from Canada would come and help stop the war. You, you haven’t been fighting a war for _sixty years_….”

The look on everyone’s face was answer enough, the temperature in the room seeming to suddenly drop a few degrees, and he swallowed. Sixty years. He couldn’t imagine that, couldn’t imagine being born in the middle of a war and dying with no hope for peace in sight. How could they even--

“Canada was at war as well when my grandfather sealed the portal. I take it yours has ended?” Elizabeth said, and Rodney blinked at her for a moment before doing the math in his head.

“Oh yes, World War Two ended back before I was born. There have been other, smaller wars, of course,” he informed her, still thinking, _Sixty years_, “but the war’s been over for…a long time.” He didn’t try to explain the war on terrorism, mostly because he didn’t understand it himself most of the time.

“It seems that King Janus did the right thing then, Your Majesty,” Radek said softly, inclining his head in a respectful nod towards Elizabeth even as Rodney gawked.

“Your Majesty?” he repeated, almost but not quite squeaking. All right, his voice did go a little high from surprise, but still, he didn’t _squeak_ as everyone smiled.

Even the anxious-looking one, Carson, looked a little amused at his surprise. “We probably should have done proper introductions. This is Queen Elizabeth, ruler of Lantea and duchess of Atlantis, which is the main province. I’m Carson Beckett, the queen’s doctor--”

“Yes, yes, introductions are good, but if he _is_ from Canada, then--” Radek interrupted, eyes suddenly gleaming. “The developments in science during these past sixty years, what they must have accomplished without war slowing down their advancements….” There was an almost hungry look on his face, an eagerness that Rodney recognized as the hunger for scientific knowledge. “My father built the first train and helped to design the railroad system for the Genii, which has helped the war effort tremendously, and together Father and I created the temephone--”

“Temephone?”

“Yes, the communication devices--”

Radek gestured vaguely towards his ear, and Rodney said, “Oh, _telephones_. Telephones, not temephones.”

Radek made a dismissive gesture, as though the misnaming were inconsequential (and Rodney supposed it was, when push came to shove), and asked, “So, what other types of inventions have you created since the portal was closed? I have been trying to design an, an airplane, I believe you called it, but there has been no time to really design one and make it fly, not with--”

“And there must have been plenty of advancements in weapons,” Ronon interrupted meaningfully.

Rodney made a face, thinking of the atomic bomb and newest missiles and tanks, of the fact that bombs could now be made small enough to fit inside a suitcase. “Yes, there were, though I doubt you have the equipment necessary to build them.” He certainly didn’t see any uranium lying around.

He looked at Elizabeth and supposed that she did have the bearing of a queen, all quiet confidence and a stubborn chin. After a moment, he said awkwardly, “So, this prophecy--”

“Supposedly says that a visitor from Canada would help us defeat the Mice,” Elizabeth informed him.

“The Mice,” he repeated.

“They’ve never told us if they have a name, so that’s what we call them,” John said, shrugging.

“Mice,” Rodney said again. He could feel his lips twitch upward, and wondered if it was too late to pinch himself and see if he’s dreaming. After all, _mice_?

Ronon shrugged. “They’re mice, six feet tall. What else would you call them?”

“I--” Six feet tall? Definitely dreaming. He had to be, because, honestly, six-foot tall mice. While different universes were improbable, giant mice were simply unbelievable. He folded his arms against his chest and said, “Er, right. Mice. And you, uh, expect me to be able to help you defeat these…giant mice. Me.” He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from smirking.

John stared at him, frowning, and when he spoke, there was a coolness to his voice that earned a few askance glances. “Ronon, is Stephen still alive? I don’t think our Canadian guest here believes us about the Mice.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think he needs a demonstration.”

***  
***

“Okay,” Rodney said weakly, staring at the Mouse, which looked more eight feet tall than six, with wicked-looking teeth and claws that had seemed much less threatening on the Mouse’s tiny cousin. The Mouse made a low, furious noise, baring its teeth at Rodney, and he resisted the urge to take a step away from the cell. “This is definitely a convincing demonstration.”

When he looked at John, the amused glint was back in the man’s eyes, and he was leaning again, this time against the wall of the prison. “This is who -- what we’re up against. Guns work wonders on them, but you’re pretty much doomed if they get in too close and it’s hand-to-hand.”

“And you expect me to be able to help you defeat them,” Rodney said slowly, a sinking feeling in his gut. Elizabeth already explained, tone apologetic and conciliatory, how she couldn’t possibly hope to convince the Council to open the portal and send him back home with the war still on. He was trapped here until the Mice were defeated.

John shrugged. “That’s what the prophecy says. Personally, I think you just chose the wrong gift for your sister.” He straightened. “Well, Radek’s probably foaming at the mouth, wanting to talk to you about your world’s new inventions. I’ll take you over to his laboratory, and maybe you two can figure out a weapon that will wipe out the Mice entirely.”

“And then the war will be over and I can go home,” Rodney said, and John half-grinned.

“Then you can go home.”

“I can certainly try to help build something of the sort, but I don’t see how much help I’m going to be. Oh sure, I know almost everything about everything, I’m a _genius_ after all, but I’m still only in university. I’ve only ever built that atomic bomb in sixth grade, and you probably don’t have the materials and it wasn’t even a working model anyway. And I don’t know that much about other weapons, like guns or tanks, I mean, I’m Canadian, not _American_….”

Rodney spent the next few minutes explaining why exactly he was going to be fairly useless in this war as John led him through the labyrinth that was the palace of Queen Elizabeth of Lantea. As he did so, he couldn’t help but study the man beside him, finding that John Sheppard did _everything_ casual. His half-lope, half-swagger was easy, his graceful movement seemingly unconscious, and he kept shooting Rodney these small, slightly amused smiles that turned his hazel eyes all the more green. He looked even more amused with every point that Rodney made in regard to his uselessness.

Radek’s eyes were bright and his smile slightly manic when John handed Rodney over to him. “Ah, good, I have so much to ask you about. For example--” And then Radek began tossing question after question at him, and Rodney barely noticed when John waved and escaped from the laboratory.

It wasn’t until a blond woman poked her head into the laboratory and said, “Sir, we’re having a bit of trouble with the latest gun. Could I have a moment?” that Rodney had a chance to breathe and actually look around Radek’s laboratory, which was large and yet still full of clutter, books and scraps of paper covering every available surface.

Most of the scraps of paper had equations or sketches on them. As Rodney slowly investigated, he discovered numerous sketches, some of the trains Radek and his father must have designed, others of inventions Rodney couldn’t begin to guess at. After a while, he found a sketch that looked very similar to the first drawings of the Wright brothers’ airplanes. Well, Radek had mentioned that he was designing an airplane; if this was his design, then he was well on his way toward flight.

“So you have seen my idea for an airplane,” Radek said quietly from behind him, and took the paper from Rodney’s hand. Rodney repressed a startled jump but not a twitch at Radek’s sudden appearance, and Radek looked momentarily apologetic. Then he glanced down at the paper, his expression taking on an almost wistful smile. “We do not have time to build ‘frivolous’ machines such as planes, not during war, but afterward, afterward when there is peace, I shall build an airplane, and Her Majesty will be able to view all of Lantea from above, to see her entire kingdom and all her people.”

His voice was painfully earnest, and looking at him, Rodney wondered how long Radek had been carrying a torch for the queen; obviously quite some time. “So, you designed the telephone.”

Radek smiled and gave a slight shrug. “Well, my father did, using stories -- stories Vanadalin once told him. I merely helped. The temephone, the telephone, I mean, has proven very useful in warning of attacks. Far less civilian casualties.”

“So, this Vanadalin. What happened to him? After all, the Council couldn’t have been happy that he disobeyed their orders.”

Radek’s smile slipped from his face at the question and he looked tense, expression drawn and distant. “Not happy at all. He and his family were banished from the kingdom and threatened on pain of death if they stepped foot in Lantea ever again. He died in the service of the Genii when one of his experiments went wrong.”

“Experiments?”

“Besides being the gatekeeper, Vanadalin was also an inventor,” Radek said with a wry twist to his lips. “If he created the miniature gateway that brought you here, it was through his skill as an inventor, not by a magic spell like others would have you believe. He was -- brilliant. Very mad, very _foolish_, but undeniably brilliant.”

“Sir?” It was the blond woman again, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but the new rifle is still jamming. We thought if you could take a look at it--”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Radek said, and then gestured for Rodney to follow him, smiling wanly and adding with a trace of bitterness, “Until the war is over, I am afraid I cannot play the mad inventor like Vanadalin, tinkering to my heart’s delight and doing as I please, all consequences be damned. For now, I must build weapons.”

Radek lead him outside to the shooting range, where it was early morning (and Rodney couldn't help but wonder what his parents were thinking right now, whether they believed he was sulking and skipping Christmas morning, whether they even cared).

The sun dyed the sky pale oranges and pinks, tinted the few clouds in the sky the same pastel shades. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. Remembering the way the snow had fallen on his face and caught in his eyelashes, how he’d been almost buried alive, Rodney couldn’t quite keep from shivering. It didn’t matter that he wore several layers, both his fleece jacket and a thick coat that someone in the palace had provided; he could still feel the snow on his skin.

He was startled to see John and an unfamiliar woman outside as well and blinked at them. They were a little ways away from where the blonde and Radek were huddled together, deep in conversation, hands gesturing wildly at the target and the rifle that a bored-looking soldier held.

Rather than guns, John and the woman actually wielded sticks, circling each other and looking wary and focused as their breath billowed from their lips in the crisp morning air. They both moved with fluid grace, and Rodney couldn’t help but stare at the breathtaking image they made, the morning sun accentuating every curve, every muscle on their lean frames. They were like Greek statues come to life, the perfection of bronze turned into the perfection of flesh.

Even as he watched, the woman suddenly twisted and lunged, John seeming to almost dance out of reach. John and the woman were sleeveless, and Rodney could see the muscles rippling in John’s arms, sweat trickling down his neck and staining his shirt. If they were cold, neither showed any sign of discomfort, both wearing small, grim smiles that didn’t reach their watchful eyes.

John lunged, and this time it was the woman who avoided the blow, long brown strands swirling around her head as she sidestepped the lunge and hit his wrist, hard, the sound of wood striking skin making Rodney wince on John’s behalf. A second later, John was on his knees, the woman’s sticks trapping his neck and forcing him to tilt his head up at her.

He grinned, a tad ruefully. “I concede.”

The woman didn’t smile, just nodded and took a step back, leaving John still on his knees, an image that shouldn’t make Rodney’s mouth dry, but it did, made his mouth drier than the Sahara, and he had to swallow a few times before any moisture returned to his mouth.

“You are improving,” she said gravely, voice clear, concise.

John’s grin widened. “And yet you still get me on my knees every time,” he said, finally getting up from his knees and grabbing his sticks as he did so. His face was flushed, both from the cold and the exercise, and even as Rodney watched, he rotated the wrist she’d struck with a slight wince and stretched, muscles rippling under that smooth, slightly tanned skin. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course,” the woman said in the same grave voice as before, but a flicker of a smile appeared on her lips and she bent a little, pressing their foreheads together in a unique embrace, and Rodney thought, _Of course. Of course they’re together_.

He ignored the odd, disappointed clench of his stomach. Why should he care that this universe upheld the same ‘beautiful people belong with other beautiful people’ law that his did? He wasn’t going to be in Lantea forever.

John noticed him and grinned, twirling one of the sticks like a baton. “Enjoy the sight of Teyla getting me on my knees?” he drawled, and Rodney almost choked on air, his cheeks heating.

“What? No, I--” But of course John couldn’t have meant that suggestively. He had no way of knowing what Rodney had been thinking during the sparring match. He swallowed, forced the heat from his face, fumbled for something to say, and came up with a lame, “So sticks are, uh, apparently good weapons against, against the Mice then?”

“When a Mouse has knocked your gun from your hand, being able to use whatever is at hand might save your life,” the woman -- Teyla -- said, turning her slight smile upon him. He felt his ears warm ever so slightly. “You must be Rodney McKay of Canada.”

“That’s me,” he said awkwardly, and after a moment’s hesitation, thrust his hand out. Her grip was firm, her hand callused. “Teyla, wasn’t it?”

“Teyla Emmagan of Athos. I serve as an advisor to the queen, when not training John,” she informed him, and now he was close enough to see that her eyes gleamed with good-natured humor. “I could teach you to fight, if you wish it.”

Teach him how to fight? Rodney had a sudden image of being sprawled on the ground, face-first in snow while Teyla and John smirked at his total ineptitude. “Oh, uh, thanks but I think I’ll pass. I’ve heard enough about the Amazons to know--” At her raised eyebrow, he added hastily, “Oh, uh, Amazons. Back in ancient times, they were fierce female warriors who were said to be as strong as men-- which was a compliment back in those days, because that, that was before gender equality, you see, so women were seen as inferior to men, and Amazons were the only women equal in strength, so, um--”

“So being referred to as an Amazon should be considered a compliment,” Teyla interrupted him smoothly, and there was definitely amusement in her eyes as he wisely clamped his mouth shut and nodded that yes, it should be seen as a compliment and definitely, _definitely_ not an insult. “Thank you for the compliment, Rodney McKay. If you ever do wish to learn how to fight, I would be most happy to train you.” 

“And you’ll, uh, definitely be the one I ask,” Rodney muttered, forcing back the warmth from his face. He glanced over, but Radek was still waving his hands at the blonde, both appearing frustrated as the soldier continued to look bored.

When he looked back, John was watching him, a slight smile on his face. “What?” he snapped, resisting the urge to run a hand over his face and hair to figure out what John was amused about.

John just shrugged. “Nothing,” he said, irritatingly casual, and grinned at Rodney’s glare. He raised an eyebrow. “You might end up being stuck in Lantea for a while. If that’s true, you have to learn to fight in case of an attack.”

Rodney snorted. “If there’s an attack, I’ll be hiding in the nearest closet,” he informed the other man. “I’ve never held a gun in my life, and I never plan to. That’s why I’m a scientist, not a soldier.”

“And if a Mouse should discover the closet you are hiding in?” Teyla asked, eyebrows raised and a slight frown on her face.

He stared. “Well, I’ll be dead. Obviously.”

“You’ll get beginner’s training, both from Teyla and me,” John said, and Rodney looked at him like he’d grown two heads. John smiled a little at his expression, but there was a certain firmness in his voice that brooked for no argument as he added, “One of my duties is keeping everyone in the palace alive during an attack. That means making certain everyone has some self-defense training, and everyone includes you.”

“I don’t _need_\--” Rodney started to sputter, but then his mouth and vocabulary dried up as John patted him on the shoulder and said in a consolatory tone, “Don’t worry. They’ll be private lessons. No one will be around to see Teyla knock you into the dirt.”

“Oh yes, thank you for preserving my dignity,” he finally got out after a few desperate swallows, twisting his face into an irritated scowl and glaring at the other man. “I’ll be sure to thank you for the numerous _bruises_ as well.”

“You’re welcome,” John said sweetly, and then nodded towards Teyla. “Well, I need to go see how Evan and Ronon are stdoing with the new soldiers.”

She smiled at him, the sun making her face shine golden and beautiful. “Until tomorrow then.”

John smiled back, and then looked at Rodney. “Meet me out here an hour before supper. And if you pretend to lose track of time in Radek’s laboratory, I’ll come hunting for you.”

“I don’t like you,” Rodney informed him, and John laughed and walked away. He looked at Teyla, who wore an amused look. “I really don’t.”  



	2. Part Two

Sure enough, John came looking for him after Rodney “forgot” to ask Radek to tell him when it was an hour before the meal. He leaned against the door of the laboratory, smirking. 

When Rodney pointedly ignored him, John raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Am I _really_ going to have to drag you all the way to the training yard?” 

Rodney glared. “Yes.” He blinked as John shrugged and took a step towards him. “Oh, _fine_. But I’m warning you that I have very fair skin, not to mention I bruise easily. Also, I am able and fully willing to complain about each and every bruise I may sustain during this-- this torture session.” 

“Right,” was all John said, continuing to smirk, and Rodney sighed as he followed the other man to his doom. John was still wearing the same sleeveless shirt as before, showing off his muscular arms and the smooth, tempting nape of his neck. Rodney was having flashbacks of the boy’s locker room in school, where glimpses of the football goalie’s lean frame had made his cheeks warm and his stomach clench unpleasantly. This wasn’t fair. Not only was he apparently facing a demise at the hands of giant mice in the not-so-distant future, but while he waited for them to get around to killing him, he got to deal with a reawakened sexual identity crisis that he'd thought he'd put to rest three, four years ago. Wonderful. Plus, knowing his luck, bisexuality was an execution-worthy offense here. 

Rodney gave into the petty temptation to glower at John’s back. Why was he sleeveless anyway? Did the man have ice in his veins or something? How was he not _freezing_? The palace was chilly even with the amount of layers Rodney had on, and yet John seemed to be perfectly at ease, no goose-bump in sight or even a hint of a shiver, apparently content to stroll around like some sleeveless Adonis in winter. 

“We’ll start with the easy stuff tonight. Stretches, getting your body limber so your reflexes will be quicker,” John said over his shoulder, and Rodney scowled harder, praying that he hadn’t been caught staring. “Once I think we’ve honed your reflexes enough, Teyla will start training you in hand-to-hand combat. And of course, you’ll learn how to use a gun.” 

“Oh yes, because I stand a chance against a giant, man-eating mouse,” Rodney muttered, then added in a louder voice, “Did I mention how much I hate you?” 

John grinned. “You said you didn’t like me. There was no mention of hate.” He stretched, as casual as a cat, the shirt stretching tight against his chest and torso as he apparently worked the kinks out of his spine. 

“I--” Rodney was well aware that he was staring, and after a moment he somehow managed to lift his gaze to meet John’s amused hazel eyes. He licked his lips and got out a, “Yes, hate is definitely involved,” that he hoped wasn’t as breathless as it sounded to his own ears. God, if he survived this and got to go home, he was never, ever buying a present for Jeannie again, not even if his parents threatened to disown him. 

Rodney somehow survived the exercises -- probably by the grace of a god he didn’t believe in -- although he was fairly certain he’d stretched a few muscles that were never meant to be stretched. He also suspected that his dignity was slowly but surely slipping out of reach. 

Still, John seemed pleased, giving him a pat on the back that dried out Rodney’s mouth yet again. (_Maybe it’s just dehydration,_ an optimistic voice in his head suggested even as the rest of him mentally snorted.) Smiling a little, John offered up a cheerful, “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“Says you,” Rodney muttered half-heartedly, though he knew tomorrow he’d complain vehemently about the strained muscles as John tried to charm or bully him into another session. “Now, food please, unless you _want_ me to collapse and die before a Mouse can even get near me.” In all actuality, Radek hoarded food like he starved as a child or something, and together they’d snacked constantly the entire day so he wasn't verging on a hypoglycemic reaction or anything, but John didn’t know that. 

John raised an eyebrow. “Collapse and die?” 

Rodney lifted his chin and glowered at the other man’s disbelieving tone. “Yes, I _happen_ to have a medical condition. If I don’t eat frequently enough, I’ll collapse and with the state of medicine in your world as it is, I’ll most definitely die.” 

“Right,” John said, clearly not believing him, and Rodney scowled at him all the way to the dining hall. There, John slid into a chair next to Ronon and across from Teyla with his usual careless grace, immediately slouching and looking ready to slide off the chair. He looked at the steaming bowl in front of him and made a face. “Wonderful, stew. Well, at least it’s warm.” 

“We are rationing our food, now that it is Winterfrost,” Radek explained, poking at his soup with a spoon and grimacing as well, and Rodney suddenly understood why Radek hoarded food in his laboratory as the scientist made a despairing noise under his breath and shoved his bowl over to Ronon. 

Ronon didn’t seem to have a problem with the meal; he accepted Radek’s bowl with a muttered thank-you and then both men looked toward the front of the room, where Elizabeth sat at a table higher than the rest. 

As though sensing their respective eyes on her, Elizabeth smiled and rose to her feet. She looked around the room, meeting various people’s gazes and nodding. The conversations in the room ebbed until there was an expectant sort of silence. 

Elizabeth cleared her throat and began. “I am certain you all are ravenous, so I will make this brief,” she assured the group, earning a few smiles. “I want to thank all of you for your hard work today, whether it was patrolling for Mice, tending to the horses, or mending torn uniforms for our soldiers. Without your loyalty and aid during this time of ongoing strife, Lantea would have long-since fallen to the Mice. I am grateful to your dedication each and every day I am queen.” She paused, a warm smile on her face. “Please, eat. You have earned every bit of your meal tonight.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then the room filled with the soft sounds of spoons clinking against the bowls and low conversations as Elizabeth sat back down. 

Rodney looked at his stew and cautiously sampled a spoonful. It tasted more like water than soup, almost like it was actually water with merely an aftertaste of beef, vegetables, and herbs, but hey, it was food, and so he dug in. After a moment, he looked up. “Does she -- uh, the queen -- always make speeches like that?” 

“The speeches boost morale,” Radek informed him, and Rodney mentally snorted at the proud and almost adoring expression on his face. “Her Majesty gives a short speech every night before the evening meal.” 

“Her father did something like it, only his speeches were more about sacrifice and less about how valuable we lowly beings are to the Crown,” John added with a slight smirk. Ronon snorted, whether in amusement or agreement or both, Rodney wasn’t quite certain. “Elizabeth thinks more highly of commoners than her father did.” 

Rodney pointed his spoon at John; the other man flinched as a few hot droplets from the soup hit his face. Rodney ignored John’s scowl as he wiped at his face in favor of saying, “That’s another thing that I’ve been wondering about. You call the queen by her name, while Radek calls her by her title. Why?” 

One corner of John’s mouth twitched, and he glanced at Radek, whose face was slightly pink. “Well, for one thing, Elizabeth and I have been friends since childhood. I was the lowly stable-boy she decided to befriend out of boredom.” 

“And the other thing is that Radek’s been pining away for her ever since she let him and his family return to Lantea,” Ronon said in his matter-of-fact way. He ignored Radek’s glare. 

“I do not _pine_,” Radek said, readjusting his glasses and attempting a dignified frown. “I simply have a healthy amount of respect for Her Ma--” He stopped and rolled his eyes in exasperation when everyone grinned at him. 

“Let him and his family return to Lantea?” Rodney repeated blankly, and Radek’s frown deepened. 

“Ah, yes, I never mentioned my last name, did I?” He smiled, the bitter twist of his lips darkening his face for a moment. “I am Radek Zelenka.” 

“Oh.” Rodney blinked, processing that for a moment. Well, it certainly explained Radek’s disdain for the man -- his grandfather, Rodney supposed, or a great-uncle -- that had gotten their entire family exiled from Lantea. “So you lived--”

“With the Genii until Her Majesty came to King Cowen to try and form an alliance against the Mice,” Radek said, and the bitter edge of his smile shifted to one of ruefulness. “Instead, she returned with me in tow, and I have been doing my best to serve the Crown ever since.” 

“Doing your best to serve Elizabeth, you mean,” John interjected, and grinned at Radek’s narrowed eyes. “Oh, please,_everyone_ sees how you look at her--”

“Excuse me, sir?” It was the blond woman from before, and Radek’s entire face brightened with relief as she interrupted the conversation. “There seems to be a problem with one of the long-reach cannons and--”

“Of course, of course, I’ll see to it immediately,” Radek said. He almost knocked his chair over in his haste to get to his feet and escape the conversation. “Take me there, if you would?” 

“Radek, you did not have anything to eat,” Teyla reminded him, frowning a little in concern. 

“I will eat later,” Radek said quickly, already backing away from the table. He paused, narrowed his eyes at Ronon and John, and added, “And one final time, I do not _pine_.” Then he fled before the two grinning men could say a word. 

“Does the queen--” Rodney began, and John shook his head, looking amused and almost regretful. The expression made his eyes seem greener, and Rodney ducked his head and studied his bowl of stew. 

“Everyone _but_ Elizabeth sees how he looks at her,” Teyla remarked, and then added in a sterner tone, “Ronon, John, must you two torment Radek? You have been teasing him for _years_. Enough is enough.” 

“I’ll stop teasing when he finally gets up the courage to tell her how he feels,” Ronon said, apparently unperturbed at Teyla’s scolding. And also seemingly unaffected by her frown, because he grinned at her and began eating Radek’s serving of stew even as she sighed and shook her head. 

Teyla turned a smile upon Rodney. “How was your first lesson?” 

He shrugged, feeling John’s gaze on him. “It was fine, although I’m sure I’ll be sore tomorrow. Some parts of my body just aren’t meant to be stretched, and yet John felt the need to stretch them anyway.” 

John looked amused. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, and added, “We’ll do the stretching exercises twice a day. Once before breakfast and another before supper, and then Teyla will--”

“Twice a day?” Rodney repeated, incredulous, and pointed his spoon at John again. He was almost disappointed when no droplets hit the other man’s face this time. “No way. I’m not doing two torture sessions a day. I told you already, I can hide in a closet and--” 

“You’ll do what I -- what Elizabeth tells you to do,” John said. The smile he wore as he said the words didn’t reach his eyes, which were as hard as stone. “You may be a guest, but she’s still the queen, and you _will_ obey her. Elizabeth doesn’t want you to get killed just because you’re slothful--” 

“I am not _lazy_,” Rodney snapped, throwing down his spoon and folding his arms against his chest. “I just don’t think you understand that I am _not_ athletic in the slightest. Gym was the only class I didn’t pass with flying colors, and even then, I probably should have failed, but the teacher wanted me out of his class because I apparently complained too much, so he passed me. The class was a total waste of time, anyway, with pointless games like Dodgeball and Squirrels in the Tree, which had no redeeming value whatsoever, and-- and _don’t look at me like that_. I’m not lazy.” He glared as John’s look of apparent disgust shifted to one of annoyance. 

“You might not be lazy, but you have got to be one of the most irritating people I’ve ever met,” John informed him through gritted teeth, eyes dark. “Here I am, trying to keep your ungrateful ass safe--”

“I won’t be _safe_ until I’m back home!” Rodney all but yelled, and jumped to his feet. His stomach roiled and his face felt like it was on fire. “Okay, there might be idiotic teenager muggers back home, there are still no giant mice that want to eat me!” 

“John--” Teyla began as John’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m trying to teach you how to defend yourself from the Mice, so you don’t end up dead like Aid--“ He paused, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and bit back whatever name he was going to say. “Maybe if you stopped complaining for one second, you’d see--”

“That I can defeat a six-foot tall mouse by becoming flexible? I don’t think so,” Rodney said, well aware that he was sneering and that his voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see what Radek is doing. Science is what I’m brilliant at, after all, not _stretching_.” 

“Rodney,” Teyla tried again, and Rodney rolled his eyes and walked away, ignoring her calls for him to wait. 

***  
***

It took him a few dead-ends before he realized that he’d stomped off down a corridor without thinking and gotten himself lost in this labyrinth they called a palace. Perfect. Could this day get any worse? 

“This is what I get for trying to be a halfway decent brother. Get Jeannie a present for Christmas? Of course it’d be cursed and send me to this hellhole, because that is just my luck.” Continuing to mutter to himself, he turned around and headed back in the direction he hoped was the dining hall. 

Then he flinched and almost tripped over his own feet as a loud, painful ringing rattled his bones and filled his ears. It was a bell, of that he was certain, but one which made his teeth and bones ache. It definitely wasn't the one that announced the hour. 

The ringing continued, making his head pound. “What the hell?” he muttered, but couldn’t even hear his own words amid the ringing. He sighed in relief when the bell finally went silent. Still, what had _that_ been about? He decided to ask Radek -- once Rodney figured out how to get to the other man’s laboratory, that is. 

He turned the corner and froze, realizing that the bell must have been a warning. _It’s really too bad that no one mentioned a warning system to me,_ he thought bitterly, carefully retreating back behind the corner and praying that the three Mice hadn’t spotted him. 

He backed away quietly, only to realize that he was in yet another dead-end corridor and trapped. “Shit,” he breathed to himself, and closed his eyes. Well, at least if the Mice got him, he wouldn’t have to hear John’s I-told-you-so. He opened his eyes a second later when a low snarl reached his ears, and met the red, ravenous eyes of one of the Mice. 

Rodney did the only sane thing to do: he backed into the nearest corner and curled up into a ball, made himself smaller, less attractive to a hungry Mouse. (How smart were these creatures, anyway?) Desperate words tumbled from his lips as though the Mice might listen to reason. 

“Look, you really don’t want to eat me. I mean, what if you’re allergic to people from Canada? It’s just, it’s just dying by being eaten by rodents wasn’t exactly how I planned to die, much less die at the age of twenty-one-- I haven’t even made a name of myself in the scientific community, and--”

The words died in his throat as the Mouse dragged him upright, claws digging into his shoulder, and god, he really was going to die, and his family wasn't even going to have a body to bury, and everyone in Lantea would just think of him as that Canadian idiot who didn’t listen and got himself killed--

Rodney closed his eyes again as the Mouse’s rank breath washed over him, because yeah, it might be cowardly, but he didn’t want the Mouse’s teeth to be the last thing he saw. His eyes were still squeezed shut when the Mouse’s claws tightened and it let out a low growl. And then the Mouse’s grip was gone; Rodney stumbled backwards as the sounds of revolver-fire and high-pitched screeches rang in his ears. 

John grinned at him when he finally opened his eyes. “Hey, Rodney.” 

“John,” he breathed, and felt a giddy sort of disbelief as the Mouse twitched in its death throes at his feet. 

“You’re welcome,” John drawled, and then hefted his revolver. “Now, how about we get you somewhere safe?” 

“Safe would be good,” Rodney said and all but leaped over the Mouse’s corpse and the two other Mice that John had apparently killed as John lead the way. “So, uh, that was really, um, excellent timing. Thank you.” 

John glanced sideways at him and just raised an eyebrow.

Rodney felt his face warm. "How did the Mice get into the castle?" he asked, forcing the heat from his cheeks, and rolled his eyes when John gestured for him to be quiet. He was very much aware that there were Mice in the castle that wanted to eat him, which was why he'd whispered. 

When Rodney kept staring at him, demanding an answer, John shook his head. "One of the sentries must've been taken by surprise," he whispered, so quietly that Rodney had to lean in to hear him. "Now, shut up and just follow me, and maybe we'll both get out of this alive." 

Rodney snorted, very quietly, in disbelief, but followed after John. There were more questions he wanted to ask, such as where John had gotten that revolver and the sword now hanging at his side (Rodney definitely didn't recall them during the stretching exercises), if everyone was all right, how many Mice there were, how they expected to kill all the Mice--

John stopped so suddenly that Rodney bumped into him, cursing. "What the hell--" he began, and then saw what made the other man falter. 

Teyla smiled wearily at them. "Rodney. John. It is good to see you two are well," she said, voice low and husky with pain, and John moved towards her to steady her as she swayed. She shook her head at his concerned look. "I am fine. It looks worse than it is." 

Staring at her arm, which dangled limp and bloody at her side, Rodney didn't believe her. He wanted to reach out and help her too, but John was supporting her on her good side already and he knew that he would only jostle her injured arm and cause her further pain if he tried to help. 

Teyla fumbled with something hanging at her side, agony contorting her face as she offered the two sticks to Rodney. They were the wooden sticks she'd used during her exercises with John, he realized as he stared down at them. "I cannot use them and you are unarmed," she explained when he continued to stare. 

Rodney accepted them, holding them awkwardly as Teyla murmured, "We have formed a barricade around the infirmary, dining hall, and armory. I do not know--" She took in a deep breath and Rodney watched the color drain from her face. "I do not know how many had left the dining hall before the alarm sounded." 

Bile rose in Rodney's throat at that and he swallowed it back. Radek, that blond woman-- had they been caught by surprise when the Mice invaded? Were they already dead somewhere? God, he wanted to be home, where there wasn't a war going on in his city. 

"Where's Elizabeth?" John asked softly, and at Teyla's answer that the queen was in the infirmary, said, "We'll go there." Silent now, they headed towards where the others had barricaded themselves against the Mice, listening for sounds of fighting and cries for help. 

It was a scream they heard first, a cry of mingled fear and fury, followed by the snarl of a Mouse. John nudged Teyla gently toward Rodney and took up his revolver. Rodney stared at the dark, dangerous look on John's face and wondered if he would have an expression like that if he'd lived in Lantea instead of Canada. 

John turned the corner and a second later the sound of revolver-fire and the dying screams of Mice rang out. He returned with a woman who had blond hair and furious blue eyes. She clutched a blood-stained sword. "Five on one, or else I would have had them," she whispered furiously, apparently oblivious to the long scratch on her face that oozed blood.

"I'm sure you would have, Laura," Teyla said, gently but sincerely, and the two women exchanged weak smiles before they continued towards the infirmary. 

***  
***

This time, it was the sound of rifles and revolvers that reached their ears. The sticks in Rodney's hands were slippery with sweat, and he almost dropped one as Teyla whispered, "The Mice must be at the barricade. We have to--"

"I know," John said, just as soft, and handed his revolver to her. She held it awkwardly with her good hand as he drew his sword. 

The woman named Laura said nothing, but her eyes blazed and she tightened her grip on her sword and stepped ahead of the group, back straight and shoulders back, as regal as Elizabeth. Had it really been only hours since Elizabeth had swept into the infirmary and Radek had explained that this was the land of Lantea? 

“Um,” Rodney said, looking down at the sticks and wondering what on earth they expected him to do. And what the group’s actual plan was. Were they really just going to go around the corner and attack the Mice from behind--

Apparently, that was exactly what they were planning, because Laura took one step forward, and then another, and then she was around the corner and gone, Teyla and John following quickly after. 

Rodney stood still for a moment, listening to the sound of vicious fighting and people dying just beyond his sight, and wished with all of his heart to be home, getting punched in the arm by Jeannie for his crappy present. Then he took a deep breath and plunged around the corner and into battle. 

Two blood-streaked swords gleamed in the flickering light of the torches as John and Laura twirled and dodged the Mice’s claws, feinted and then stabbed. 

Teyla stood a little further back, obvious strain on her ashen face but determination in the way she held the revolver in her good hand and fired again and again. Each time she fired, a Mouse staggered and fell, and did not rise again. 

But there were so many Mice, a full dozen turning to snarl and move toward Teyla and John and Laura, others trying to destroy the barricade of chairs and tables that blocked the infirmary, and it all seemed so very hopeless, like this was some grand last stand in which they all died. 

Rodney could feel his throat closing up with panic as he clutched the sticks. He wondered if he would help or hinder the three by being here, unskilled, untaught. But he couldn’t go back, and he couldn’t leave them, and so he stayed, helplessly clutching the sticks and watching the Mice approach. 

Laura fell first, with a quiet, choked sound of pain that was almost lost amid the yells and snarls. Rodney saw her fall, saw her lie still and silent on the ground, face tilted away from him so that he couldn’t see her expression. Fear, sharp and bitter, was on his tongue, or maybe that was bile, as he willed her to get up again. She didn’t. 

John bent down, snatched the sword from Laura’s unresisting hand, and then everything was blur as he launched himself at the nearest Mouse, both swords flashing in his grip as he hacked away at the creature. 

Another Mouse moved toward Laura’s unmoving form, and Rodney found himself leaping forward on pure instinct, an angry snarl escaping his lips. She was _down_, she wasn’t fighting, why couldn’t the Mouse just leave her _alone_\-- One of the sticks struck the Mouse’s neck, and the Mouse growled, the sound more of annoyance than pain. For once, Rodney didn’t care, lashing out with the other stick. 

Then he was falling, ears ringing, and met blackness as his head hit the stone floor. 

He struggled out of unconsciousness, head aching, wondering if maybe this would do the trick, if he’d just needed to lose consciousness again to get back to Canada. But no, he could hear the sounds of fighting still, though the sounds seemed far away. 

Rodney opened his eyes and lifted his head, wincing as his head pounded and his gaze blurred. When his gaze cleared, he could see Laura, still lying silently on the ground, and John and Teyla, still on their feet, fighting. And he could see Ronon and a group of men and women holding makeshift weapons and standing between the Mice and the barricade. 

There were bodies, both of Mice and soldiers, sprawled unmoving throughout the corridor. Rodney tried not to stare at them. 

He sat up instead, looking around for the sticks. They were gone. For a moment, his hands actually ached for them, because he needed something, anything, to protect himself from the Mice. Then he clenched his hands into fists and the sensation passed. He thought that maybe one of Ronon’s army was using the sticks, but his sight was still a little blurry around the edges and he couldn’t tell. 

Teyla spared him a glance that was warm with relief, and shouted, “Get to the barricade if you can, Rodney.” 

Without a weapon, what else could Rodney do but obey? He scrambled to his feet, then hesitated, gaze lingering on Laura. She could still be alive, still breathing. The blood staining her shirt made it impossible to tell, though, not unless Rodney got in close and felt for a pulse.

When he crouched down next to her, fingers pressed against her throat, it took a moment for him to realize that there was an actual heartbeat and it wasn’t just his hand trembling. The heartbeat was faint and unsteady, but it was there. 

Rodney was careful when he took her by the shoulders, half-dragging her across the floor toward the barricade. He kept his head low, his eyes focused on Laura’s bloody back. If a Mouse attacked, he didn’t want to see his death coming. 

He bumped against something hard and unyielding. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw it was a leg of a chair. He’d reached the barricade. Through the cluster of chairs and tables, he could see the door of the infirmary, so close and yet so far away. 

He tried to speak, realized his throat was too dry from terror, tried again. “T-throw something out here. A bandage, anything. I’ve got Laura and she’s bleeding, and some bandages would be really good right now, so….” 

Then it was only his voice, weak and hoarse, speaking into silence and fumbling to a stop. He knew that he shouldn’t turn, shouldn’t see what had stunned everyone into silence, but then Laura moaned very softly beneath his hands, and he turned to look at her, and then past her, at the new Mouse that had appeared. 

It was definitely a new Mouse. Most of them looked the same, but not this one, not when it seemed double the size of the other Mice and wore a garnished crown that had once been gold atop its head. Apparently the Mice had a king or queen. 

The mass of Mice and soldiers parted like the Red Sea, until it was only John and the crowned Mouse, staring at each other. There was a cut on John’s forehead; Rodney watched the blood trickle down John’s face, mingle with the sweat shining on his skin. 

Then John grinned, a quick flash of white teeth, and saluted the Mouse with a hand that shook from exhaustion. He was down to one sword now, the other probably in a corpse littering the floor. “So this is the real thing,” he said, almost conversationally, as though he weren’t breathless and bleeding. “I mean, if His Majesty, Lord of the Mice, decides to grace our palace with his presence--” 

The Mouse King snarled. 

John’s grin turned cold, the smile more of a baring of teeth than anything else. “Was that a challenge? If so, I accept.” He took a small step forward and lifted the sword so that it pointed directly at the Mouse King’s chest. “I wonder what your friends will do, once they see you dead.” 

As though to answer, the Mouse King lunged, claws reaching for John’s face, John’s eyes, and a cry of warning and alarm choked Rodney into silence as he watched the duel unfold. 

John wasn’t casual now, intent in each weary, purposeful movement he made. The only vestige of his earlier relaxed attitude remained in the hint of a smirk that lingered at the corner of his mouth. 

The sword flashed in the torchlight, and the Mouse King roared and reeled back, clutching its injured arm. The other Mice made a noise—a quiet, angry moan that swelled as blood splattered the floor—but they stayed still, watching the fight with bright, glittering eyes. 

John struck once more, grimly silent, and the Mouse King roared again. 

Torchlight reflected off the crown, temporarily blinding Rodney. As he blinked away spots, he heard someone stifle a cry. When he could see again, John was pale with pain, blood staining his left shoulder where the Mouse King’s claws had grazed him. His steps were more weary than purposeful now, almost a stagger as he fought to keep out of the Mouse King’s reach. 

Rodney stared at the blood on the Mouse King’s claws. It wasn’t fair. John had been fighting all this time, and now the Mouse King was going to take advantage of his weariness and-- and-- kill--

John stumbled, and the Mouse King leapt, and then Rodney was up and running full-tilt at the Mouse King, throwing himself at it, fists flailing wildly in an attempt to strike the Mouse King’s snout. Rodney was vaguely aware that he was shouting, calling the Mouse King a coward who only fought exhausted and injured enemies, but he couldn’t hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. 

One of his fists connected, and the Mouse King screeched. 

Then there was pain, bright, sharp agony that turned his vision white and then black around the edges, the type of pain that was like a punch to the gut even as it radiated from his chest. The Mouse King must have clawed him. 

He was on his knees, he realized. When had his legs given out? Rodney stared up at the Mouse King, a little defiant, but mostly terrified, hoping that at least this would give John the chance to run--

He watched the sword pierce the Mouse King’s chest without comprehension. It was only when the Mouse King staggered and fell, half-crushing him beneath its terrible weight, that Rodney realized John had taken the opportunity to stab the Mouse King through the heart.

Well, that was a better option than running, he supposed, and then hoped that John would drag the Mouse King’s corpse off him before he suffocated. 

Someone pulled the corpse away, and Rodney smiled weakly at Ronon, who grinned back for a second and then frowned. “Better get you to the infirmary,” he said, master of the obvious, and Rodney laughed until the white-hot agony in his chest convinced him that was a very, very bad idea. 

“Yes, let’s just tear down the barricade,” he began, breathless from the pain, and then realized that there was no more fighting. When he looked around, there were no living Mice to be found, just the still bodies on the floor. “What--?”

Ronon shrugged. “We killed their king. We won.” 

“That seems--” Rodney said, and stopped. No, it didn’t seem too easy, not when Laura was so close to death, and they had been at war for over sixty years. He swallowed, and then marveled that relief could taste so bitter. “Good. That’s…really good.” 

Then he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the darkness that had been lingering at the corners of his vision. 

***  
***

When Rodney woke up, he was in the infirmary again, only this time it was filled to capacity. The pain in his chest was muted but there, a dull ache that promised lightning bolts of agony if he tried to move too quickly. 

He sat up, carefully, and looked around for anyone familiar. There was Laura, paler than snow in a bed the next row over, and that bored soldier who had been testing the gun with Radek and the other scientist, just two beds away from Rodney. 

Teyla stood next to a bed, her head bowed and her arm in a sling. It looked like she was praying. Ronon stood next to her, face grave and intent. 

And then there was John, shirtless and heavily bandaged, sitting next to a bed in a corner of the room, his good arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. His face was pale, and Rodney wondered why he didn’t look happy. He’d defeated the Mouse King, after all, and won the war. 

“Rodney.” 

Rodney met Carson’s red-rimmed eyes and realized why. “How many?” he asked, hating himself for asking but needing to know, all the same. 

Carson didn’t need ask what he meant. “Forty-three. Thirty-nine injured, and two…two who won’t make it.” There were shadows in Carson’s eyes, his grief and regret shining clear, and Rodney looked away. 

Then he looked back. “Two who can’t be helped by your technology, you mean. If they came back to Canada, they might-- they might--”

Carson stared back, expression going lax with shock, and then he turned and called, hoarse and just a bit too loud, “Your Majesty. Your Majesty, we can, we can open the portal-- Laura and Radek--”

Elizabeth started to her feet, turning to Carson with wide eyes, looking suddenly much younger even as Rodney’s stomach clenched at Radek as one of the dying. For an instant, all the lines of strain and worry were smoothed from Elizabeth’s face. 

“Do it,” she said, voice ringing with command and something else too-- joy, perhaps. “We will send those who need the advanced technology, maybe even save Evan’s hand--” 

“I’ll get the portal ready,” John said, and Rodney watched him get to his feet with a wince, the muscles in his back flexing as his shoulders came up in a reflexive shudder of pain. Then his expression smoothed out and his clear voice carried through the room. “Ronon, could you round up anyone who can help you get the injured onto the stretchers and to the portal room?” 

Ronon nodded.

“I will help as well,” Teyla said, and ignored John’s pointed glance at her injured arm. 

And then John was gone, and Teyla and Ronon as well, and finally Elizabeth, excusing herself to find the surviving members of the Council and make the decision to send the injured to Canada official. 

Carson watched them all go, his expression one of mingled worry and hope, and then patted Rodney on the shoulder and said, “Tell me if the pain gets unbearable.” After that, he moved onto the next person, bending over their bed and smiling reassuringly at them. 

Rodney stayed in bed until he was certain Carson was sufficiently distracted by the other patients. Then he dragged himself out of bed, ignoring the tightness in his chest, the black spots in his vision, the way the floor rippled a little under his feet. He needed to find Radek, see for himself the extent of Radek’s injuries. 

Radek was in the bed furthest from the door, probably placed there during the worst of the fighting. It was the bed Elizabeth and John had been sitting next to, which Rodney should have guessed. 

Radek’s face was colorless beneath the bandages that covered most of his head and his forehead, and his breaths were shallow, the blanket barely moving as his chest rose and fell. His glasses were nowhere to be found, and it made him look younger, almost naked. 

“He saved Her Majesty’s life,” someone said. When Rodney glanced up to see who’d spoken, a pretty brunette smiled sadly back. “He threw himself between the queen and a Mouse, and it threw him aside and his head--” She stopped, swallowing hard. Rodney could see the sheen of unshed tears. “It’s the sort of coma you don’t wake up from.” 

Rodney looked at Radek’s still face and wondered if modern medicine would be able to help him. After all, brain injuries were…. He firmly banished the thought. Radek would be fine. Rodney wasn’t the type to believe in happily ever after, but in a world where giant Mice existed, he thought that Radek should get the storybook ending, win the queen’s heart and build her that airplane. 

“He’ll be okay,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident. It earned him a small smile and a nod. “I’ll just-- I’ll stay with him until they get the portal ready.” 

The woman’s smile was wider then, more sincere. “If he needs anything, just call for me or Carson.” She turned to go, and then paused. “And my name’s Jennifer. Just call for Jennifer or Carson.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and watched Jennifer cross to another row. Then he turned back to Radek and waited for John and Elizabeth to return. 

***  
***

Twelve people were coming with Rodney to Canada. Rodney wasn’t quite sure how he was going to explain their injuries to the hospital, but he didn’t really care. 

He studied the portal. It was a large, circular thing, with symbols he couldn’t hope to decipher. They weren’t like any language he knew. He supposed it did look a little like a portal to another world, though. “Do you know what the symbols say?” he asked John, who stood next to him. 

John shrugged and then winced. Apparently it was going to take a while for him to realize that shrugging with an injured shoulder was a bad idea. “Nobody knows. Scholars guess that it’s a language, but it’s not like any we have in Lantea.” 

“Huh,” Rodney said, squinting at the symbols for another second. Maybe it was an old language of Earth. He didn’t really know much about languages beside English anyway. 

John cleared his throat. When Rodney glanced at him, John’s expression was unreadable. “I don’t think I ever actually said thank-you for, uh, saving my life.” Before Rodney could react, John grinned. “Though I guess now we’re even.” 

Rodney snorted, and then had to catch his breath as his chest protested. “Please. You saved my life from three Mice by shooting them in the back. _I_, meanwhile, attacked a Mouse with my bare hands. We are so not even.” 

John shook his head, looking torn between amusement and disbelief. “You really are something.” He nudged Rodney with his good elbow, leaned in close so that Rodney could feel the soft words spoken into his ear and had to suppress a shiver. “But hey, I guess that prophecy was right. You helped end the war.” 

Rodney preened a little at that. It was pretty nice to know you were a hero from legend. “Yes, I did. And I expect a statue in my honor when I come back.” 

“Come back?” 

Rodney raised an eyebrow and ignored the way his stomach dropped to the floor at the blank surprise in John’s voice. “The portal’s open now,” he reminded him. “That means I can visit, help Radek build that airplane for the queen once he gets better--”

“Train with me so Teyla can teach you how to use the bantos rods,” John interjected helpfully. His grin turned slightly wicked at Rodney’s expression. “What? Just because the war is over doesn’t mean you should forget learning self-defense.” 

Rodney thought of more training sessions with John, all sleeveless shirts and mocking smirks, and shook his head. “I really don’t like you,” he said.

John grinned. “Yes, you do,” he said confidently, and there was a look in his eyes that made Rodney’s throat close up and something like hope flutter in his chest. 

“Yes,” Rodney said after a moment, as the symbols on the portal began to glow with a shimmering blue light. “I suppose I do.”


End file.
